Reap The Whirlwind
by chemm80
Summary: Sam and Dean take a case in West Texas. It's a bust - until they try to leave


The Impala rocked slightly to the left as it hit

**Title: **Reap The Whirlwind  
**Author: **chemm80

**Pairings: **Dean/OFC (Implied)

**Fandom: **Supernatural Gen (very Gen)

**Warnings: **Bad language, mild angst.

**Disclaimers: **Dean, Sam and the Impala don't belong to me.

**Summary: **Dean and Sam take a case in West Texas - no problem - until they try to leave.

**Author's notes: **Takes place mid to late Season 1. Bailey County is actually a dry county, so no bar. General apologies are issued to my friends and relatives in West Texas. Beta by **odd2005. **

"_They sow the wind and reap the whirlwind." _Hosea 8:7

The Impala rocked slightly to the left as a gust of wind hit the side of the car. Dean swore as a spray of sand skittered against the windows.

"Great," Dean said. "There goes the paintjob. God, I hate West Texas!"

"Since when?"

"Since today! Grit blows 24/7 out here as it is, without the fucking Attack of the Dust Devils. Car's gonna be sandblasted by the time we finally get out of this godforsaken waste."

Sam scanned the horizon – which was pretty well visible for 360 degrees, if you discounted the blowing sand – and wondered why Dean was so edgy. He wasn't exactly what you'd call a real Zen kind of guy anyway, but Sam thought this morning's run of swearing and snapping might be a personal best. He sighed. Maybe it was annoyance over the stupid waste of time and gas this run to the lovely Lone Star State had turned out to be.

And the thing was, Sam hadn't _really _thought there was a chupacabra here in the first place. Hell, he wasn't even sure the damned things existed, never mind that Dean swore he and Dad had killed one down in El Paso a couple of years back. But they'd had a break between hunts and too much of that never made Dean easy to live with anyway, so Sam had pushed for them to take the job. Apparently all he'd accomplished was making things worse.

He had tried reading to pass the time, but Dean kept venting obscene eruptions every few minutes and it was too distracting. Maybe the irritability was catching. Sam couldn't concentrate on anything, even when he had a few minutes of quiet. He had to admit that the constant wind did grate on your nerves after a while. He tried to remember exactly when Dean had starting acting so antsy, thinking maybe he could figure out what had started it. Shit - with Dean it could be anything at all or nothing much. Sam thought he really had seemed relatively okay until they started packing up last night, intending to get an early start this morning.

Another whirlwind hit the car, sending a monstrous tumbleweed bouncing off the hood and pelting it with more sand and twigs, and what might even be fair-sized rocks, from the sound.

"Son of a bitch! What is up with these fucking things? They're out to get me or something."

"They're not out to get you, Dean. It's probably just the weather warming up. Whirlwinds are caused by uneven heating of the ground, and the convection currents…"

"Dude, stow the Weather Channel update!" Dean snapped.

Okay, Sam knew lecturing was a mistake, but he was already getting pretty damned tired of Dean's crap, the reason for which he didn't have the first fucking clue. Shit, now Dean had _him _swearing.

"Geez, Dean, fine. What is up your ass anyway?"

Dean's foot abruptly left the accelerator and he jammed it down on the brake. Sam's eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing. He braced himself against the dashboard for the stop. If Dean was pissed enough to risk laying a little rubber down, Sam was just going to keep his mouth shut.

As soon as the car came to a stop, listing at about a forty-five-degree angle on the side of the narrow road, Dean shut the Impala off and stalked out onto the pavement, letting his door fall shut of its own weight. Sam climbed out a little slower, checking the short, dry grass of the right-of-way carefully for rattlesnakes before setting his foot down. It was a little early for them, but that was one mistake you didn't make twice. He unfolded himself stiffly and stretched, turning to see Dean standing smack in the center of the road.

"Dean, what the hell's the matter with you? Get out of the road! Are you _trying_ to get run down?"

Dean frowned briefly at Sam, then made an elaborate show of looking in each direction.

"Oh yeah, Sam. You're right. It's fucking rush hour out here – what was I thinking?"

Sam leaned on the roof of the Impala and gave up on talking. He watched Dean from the corner of his eye, but mostly tried to not to look at him directly, 'causehell _–_ _staring_ at him might just drive him off the fucking deep end right there. _Yep, that's me - just good ol' Sam - over here patiently waiting out your shit. _

There really was nothing moving for as far as he could see in any direction, and that was a long damned way out here. The land was almost perfectly flat, with little or nothing to break up the expanse. Yeah, it was a hell of a view. There was a town in the distance – not much more than a wide spot in the road, if he was any judge – but judging stuff like that was tricky out here. It could be twenty miles away and a lot bigger than it looked. They say everything's bigger in Texas, right?

Dean still didn't show any sign of getting back in the car. He just kept standing there with a distracted look, almost like he might be listening for something. Finally Sam had had enough.

"Are you _waiting _for something to come along and run you over, cause it looks like it might take a while and I can always come back and scrape up what's left later…"

Dean jerked his head to look at Sam like he'd forgotten he was there, then rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face and sighed deeply.

"I just needed some air. Get back in the car. And before you ask - I'm fine."

Sam did already have his mouth open actually, but closed it abruptly.

"Yeah, okay. Want me to drive for a while?"

"No, Granny Winchester. I said I was in a _hurry_ to get out of here.

Once he was back into the car, Dean seemed to relax a little. As they began to pick up speed, Dean said, "Shit, I keep thinking I hear something…like a buzzing noise?"

Sam just looked at Dean, confused. He opened his mouth to say, "What?" and then he noticed the light was beginning to fade quickly, like a cloud passing over the sun. Suddenly, there was a loud whumping noise and the car shook violently. The steering wheel yanked itself out of Dean's hand. Sam tried to brace himself for the impact, because everything was just black and they were going to wind up in the ditch or worse.

There was a tremendous roaring sound, like a strong wind. The pressure in his ears was suddenly intensely painful. He felt like they were spinning, but with no point of reference he couldn't be sure. Reflexively he yelled, "Dean!" but then couldn't tell if any sound was coming out. It was all just roaring and howling. Then suddenly he felt his ears pop.

"Sammy, are you all right?" he heard Dean ask, but his voice sounded kind of shaky and thin and Sam thought his ears must be messed up from the pressure change for Dean to sound like that.

He blinked and squinted a couple of times in the suddenly too-bright sunlight. The Impala was still on the road, and as far as he could tell everything and everyone seemed to be okay.

"What the hell was that? Hey - weren't we facing the other way before?"

He sat there for a few seconds trying to make sense of it, and then realized that Dean hadn't answered his question. Sam looked at him and he was taking deep breaths through his nose. There was a fine slick of sweat across his forehead and his color seemed a little on the greenish side.

"Dean, you don't look so good. Are you gonna…."

Dean jerked the Impala's door open, leaned over and vomited onto the pavement. The wet, splattering sound it made when it hit was too loud. Sam had seen plenty of stuff that would gag a maggot, but puke still got him every time. He stuck his head out his window and took a couple of deep breaths. The open window let a sprinkle of sand blow in his eyes, but it was a small price to pay for keeping his breakfast down. When everything was quiet for a few seconds, Sam risked another look at Dean.

Dean was wiping his mouth on a fast food napkin he'd apparently picked up out of the floorboard. He carefully lifted his feet around the mess on the ground and swung his legs back into the car. He let his head fall back against the seat and closed his eyes.

"Not a word, Sam."

Sam held up both hands palms forward and let them fall, not willing to poke the bear at this point. He had to wonder though. As far as Dean was concerned, the four major food groups were sugar, starch, grease and caffeine, and he took them all on in mass quantity – cast iron stomach was putting it mildly. It was pretty rare for him to throw up, unless he'd been drinking, and even then it took quite a bit. Besides, he had seemed okay before. Motion sickness? If Dean had ever had that before, it was news to Sam.

Dean just sat there like he was trying not to move, but still taking deep breaths. He opened his eyes and they were bloodshot and watery.

Finally Sam decided Dean wasn't going to go another round and said, "Look man, I don't know what just happened here."

He stopped and shook his head. He _really_ didn't have a fucking clue what just happened here, but he'd have to figure it out after Dean wasn't looking so shitty.

So he did his best imitation of Dean's I'm-the-oldest-don't-fuck-with-me voice and said, "Dude, you look like death warmed over, and I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm thinking it would be a good idea if we went back to Muleshoe for another night and see if we can sort this out."

He paused, wasn't sure he'd pulled it off, so he tried again. "Maybe you ate something bad at breakfast. I told you it was a bad idea to eat at a place called 'The Snazzy Pig'."

Waited some more. "Besides, you stink."

Sam was half expecting Dean to argue, but he just nodded and waved Sam over, sliding over to the passenger seat himself. Dean wanted him to drive? Shit, he really was sick.

"What the hell kind of name is Muleshoe anyway?" Dean muttered as they drove off. "Crazy fucking Texans." Then he leaned his head back against the seat and didn't say another word for the rest of the drive.

Sam was pretty relieved that they hadn't had to leave any loose ends behind at the motel the night before - no unpaid bills, no odd evidence of the hunt - because really there just wasn't anyplace else within a reasonable distance. He didn't want to go far. He'd never seen or even heard of anything like the thing they'd just encountered and he thought they should probably check it out. No way that was a whirlwind, or any other natural weather phenomenon. Especially considering Dean's reaction. He wasn't sure how - or if - Dean's unsettled mental state and/or upchucking on the highway were related to this thing, but he intended to find out.

By the time Sam dealt with the unnaturally cheerful desk clerk - _"Couldn't stay away, huh?"_ - Dean was out front checking the Impala for damage. Sam came out of the motel office. Dean just waved him off with a frown when he went to see how he was doing. Fine. He'd rather start researching anyway. He was starting to feel kind of itchy to get out of here too.

Sam didn't look up from the laptop when Dean came into the room.

"Feeling better, I guess?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, absorbed in the computer screen. "So – I've been doing a little research on whirlwinds, or really I guess I should say "dust devils", considering what I found out. It seems they can generate winds up to ninety miles per hour, but the interesting thing is that there's all sorts of lore. It's kind of funny we've never run across this before, really. There are stories from the South Pacific, the Old West, Native American and Hispanic cultures – hell, even Scotland. And get this – some of the Southwestern stories feature El Diablo himself just stepping right out of the damned things."

"El Diablo – the Devil?"

"Yep, in the flesh - or you know, whatever. There's also a folk belief that there is a witch in the whirlwind, or that one has caused it."

"Oh well, good. That would explain this." Sam looked up to see Dean holding up a hex bag.

"Shit. Where did you find that? - as though I had to ask."

Dean had obviously been holding himself back up to that point, gearing up for the explosion.

"My car, that's where! God, I hate witches! They're disgusting and a major pain in the ass, and now one's fucking with my car?" He began to pace up and down the room, running his hands back and forth through his hair.

"Huh. I guess you were right, Dean. That dust devil really was out to get your car."

"Very funny, Sam."

"I'm not being funny. This could be _very_ bad mojo. Let's take a look." Sam opened the brown cloth carefully, finding a mixture of small bones, what looked like a small amount of dirt, a few hairs and a small gray button.

"A button?" Dean rubbed his chin. "Wait a minute. I've seen that before." Dean held up his jacket sleeve and there was an identical button on the cuff. "Yeah, I thought it looked familiar." Then he held up the other sleeve, showing Sam the still-attached thread where the button had been.

Sam sighed. "Well, you definitely pissed someone off this time. I swear Dean, God knows you have a special talent for doing that, but come _on_."

"What are you talking about? Everybody loves me. And besides I have a lot of special talents," he ended with a smirk.

"Yeah, everybody loves you." Sam thought for a minute, then grabbed Dean's sleeve and pulled it closer to his face. He said, "This was cut off. How could you not notice somebody doing that?"

Dean jerked his sleeve out of Sam's fingers. "Quit pawing me. And I _would_ have noticed it," Dean huffed, offended - but not exactly offering any explanations, either.

Sam decided to let that go for now. "Well. Females tend to be in the majority in the Dean Winchester Special Talent Fan Club and while witches aren't _always _women…" Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "What did you do?"

"Hey – I'm innocent. We were here less than a week."

"That's plenty of time. You sure spent enough time at the bar and I didn't really bother to keep tabs," Sam said.

"Well, not that it's any of your business, Saint Samantha, but there was only the one girl and everything was cool with her. The rest was just beer and pool."

"One, huh? You must be falling down on your game."

"Well, it's a small town."

"Okay, whatever. We need to figure out who has it in for you, because there's no way this is over. We have to go back to the bar." Sam rubbed his eyes.

Dean sighed, "Yeah, I know. 'Hell hath no fury' and all that happy horseshit. I just wish I had a clue what the hell all the fury is about."

--

In spite of being named Kelley's, the bar did not bear much resemblance to an Irish pub. It was fairly clean though, and even sported a small hardwood dance floor. Tonight the few patrons were all men, with the reddened skin and weary look that spoke of working outdoors all day. A few seemed to be playing pool at the requisite table in the back, though without much enthusiasm as far as Sam could tell. Country music played in the background as he and Dean walked up to the bar.

"Hey, boys. I didn't expect to see you back. Thought you were leaving town?"

The woman behind the bar could have been in her forties or fifties, depending on the mileage. She was wearing a black tank top and a warm smile and she had a tattoo on her left arm that looked vaguely Celtic to Sam. Sam knew from previous visits that she was the bar's owner and that her name was Myra. Maybe her other name was Kelley. She never offered a last name and he hadn't asked.

"Yeah, well, we ran into a little bad weather up the road. Decided to turn back," Dean said grimly.

Myra looked at him oddly, but another customer distracted her and she went off to get their beers without commenting on the weather.

"This place is dead, Sam. I don't think we're going to find out much, but I'll see if the boys in the back know anything," Dean said, scooping up his beer and heading for the pool table. He plastered on the first smile Sam had seen on his face all day, fake though it might be, and started trying to stir up a game at the pool table. Fortunately Dean hadn't really been hustling here in the last few days, complaining that the town was dried up. Maybe he hadn't made any major enemies among the male population, at least. Sam turned his attention from Dean back to Myra as she drifted his way.

"So, what really brings you two back here?" she asked with a smile. "Because all the weather I've noticed today is a lot of blowing sand, and that's pretty much par for the course around here."

"Honestly Myra, we did run into some trouble, but I think it's here in town." He sighed and cut his eyes toward Dean. He'd already gone all backslap and bullshit, had them eating out of his hand. He looked back at Myra. "That's kind of what we're here to find out about. My brother over there apparently stepped in some shit and now we've got to get it cleaned off his boots." Sam put both hands over his face and rubbed his eyes.

"Well now, there's shit and then there's shit. What variety are we talking about here?"

"The female variety," Sam answered, "as usual."

"The worst kind." Myra turned to look at Dean and smiled. "Yep, I'm guessing he draws plenty of that kind of trouble." She shook her head.

"Well, he claims there was only one this time. He said her name was Gena Martinez? Do you know her?

Myra smiled. "Actually I do, but it's Mendoza, not Martinez. I saw them leaving together a few days ago."

"Figures – he didn't even get her name right. Actually I'm surprised he got a last name at all, much less got it that close," Sam answered. The bitterness in his tone surprised him a little.

Myra cocked her head slightly to the right and looked at Sam quizzically. "I'm sensing there's more to this than that you're put out with your brother over this one girl." She studied his face. "But then it's none of my business."

Sam was most of the way through his beer by then. "No, it's okay. I just don't particularly agree with the way he treats women, is all."

"Really? And what way would that be?"

"Like they're objects. I mean, the life we live, we don't stay in one place long and I don't expect him to be… I don't know. It's just that this "find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em and leave 'em" shit really grates on me sometimes." Sam felt a little disloyal, but hell it was out there now. He hadn't realized how often he'd thought it until he'd said it out loud.

Myra looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, you know your brother a lot better than I do, but if you want the opinion of a woman who's been around the block a few times, you can have that for free."

Sam looked back at her. "It's your bar," he said, a little coolly.

"Yeah." She quirked one side of her mouth at his tone, but went on. "Well honey, I've been behind this bar or one like it for over twenty years now and I've seen a lot of men - and women – come through that door. I've watched them drink and flirt and – "hook up", I guess you call it now? – and if you're saying your brother is disrespectful of women, then I'd have to disagree with you on that one."

Sam lifted his eyebrows and she took it as an invitation to continue.

"Women don't come in that door looking for true love unless they're complete idiots, though I'll grant you, we do get a few of those," she said ruefully. "Most of them come in here for the same reason the men do. They want to have a few drinks, get laid – just forget their crappy lives for a while. And as far as I'm concerned, they have just as much right to it as the men do."

Sam huffed a laugh and conceded the point with a brief nod. Myra smirked. "Does that surprise you? Anyway, my point is that there are men who like and respect women and there are those who just want to _hurt _somebody – any way they can. That kind of meanness isn't in your brother. I've seen it too many times not to know it on sight."

The look in her eyes told Sam she'd done more than see it – she had firsthand experience. Time to change the subject.

"So - this Gena. Do you know much about her?"

Myra laughed shortly. "Sure. It's a small town. What do you want to know?"

"Well, I guess I'm wondering if you think she's the vindictive type. There was some damage to the car. Do you think she… if my brother did something to piss her off, do you think she might try to get back at him some way?"

Myra frowned. "_Did_ he do something to piss her off?"

Sam rubbed his fingers across his lips and sighed. "He says no. Says they left everything friendly."

"Good, because she's my cousin's daughter and I wouldn't want to have to come after him myself," she said with a small smile. She considered a brief moment. "No, that really doesn't sound much like Gena to me. Of course, she wasn't the only one buzzing around your brother in here last week."

--

The air was warm and still when they got out of the car. Sam slammed his door just a bit too hard and earned a glare from Dean, clear enough in the dim green neon light that lined the overhang in front of their room.

"Sam, I'm telling you, Gena was the only one. The pickings are pretty slim in a town like this."

"Yeah? Well that's not what Myra said." Sam couldn't figure out why Dean would lie about it and it pissed him off.

"Myra? Who the hell is Myra?"

"The bartender. She said there was another girl with you, before Gena."

Dean raised his eyebrows and looked at Sam coldly. "Oh? Well I guess you'd better let me in on this big secret you two have going."

"She said her name was Laura."

Dean frowned slightly and shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells. Did you get a description from your good friend Myra?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. She said she's small-built, with red hair and green eyes."

"I think I'd remember a redhead – not like they're that common around here. Look Sam, I don't… wait – listen. Do you hear that?"

He heard it. There was a sudden roaring like wind blowing hard, whipping up sand and dead grass and trash around them. He thought he could hear something else, like voices talking or chanting maybe, but couldn't make out any words. It was disorienting. It kept getting louder, until he covered his ears from the noise and the mounting pressure. He turned to yell at Dean with the idea of getting inside somewhere – the room, the car, something – and all he saw was a swirling black mass where Dean had been.

"Dean!" He had to be in the middle of that thing. "Dean! Oh, God." Sam frantically tried to remember what research he'd had time for. Shit – how did you stop one of these damned things? Iron, maybe? He didn't have a lot of options. He didn't want to take the time to open the trunk, much less sort through all the crap in there. All he actually had on him was the small knife in his boot. He bent to yank it out.

"Dean!" He didn't want to get too close, risk being sucked in. He could throw it, but that was a crap shoot. He stood and shifted his weight back, pulled his right arm and shoulder back to throw anyway, but then hesitated. Dean was in there, and he didn't want to hit him. It was one thing to throw a knife at something when you had no choice - something you could actually _see - _but a knife is about as aerodynamic as a house brick and throwing blind was definitely a last resort.

He was saved from deciding when the dust devil suddenly disappeared. Everything got quiet and still and he fought a few seconds of dizziness from the sudden change. He shook his head to clear it and then looked for Dean. He rounded the car with a hand on the hood and saw Dean lying next to the driver's door on the ground, his face some indeterminate greenish-gray color - Sam couldn't tell how much was Dean and how much was from the bilious light oozing from the motel. What he could see was that there was blood on his face, apparently running from a cut on his forehead. Dean stirred as Sam reached him.

"Dean! What happened?" He leaned down to check Dean for damage. "Never mind. Stupid question." Sam thought the head injury didn't look too bad. "Let's get you inside."

Dean started to push himself up off the pavement with one hand. Sam let him start to get up on his own - it would maybe tell him something about how bad he was hurt – but stayed close enough that he could catch him if he went down again. A couple of seconds later Sam was thankful he'd kept his shoes out of the way, because Dean made it up to his knees before he leaned over and lost it – again - all over the pavement.

"Christ," Dean gasped when he finished heaving. "I _hate_ to puke! That was perfectly good beer."

"Twice in one day, too. That might be some kind of record for you. Let's get you inside and clean you up."

--

It really wasn't a bad cut, just calling attention to itself with excessive bleeding, as head injuries loved to do. It was swelling up some, but the really worrisome fact was that something had hit Dean hard enough just above the right eyebrow to knock him down and keep him there for a while. _Winds up to ninety miles per hour._ Sam swallowed. _Could have been a lot worse. _He steered his mind back to the task at hand.

"I don't think it needs to be stitched. A little Super Glue and maybe a few SteriStrips ought to hold it," Sam said. He picked up the tube and scrunched up his face, concentrating on getting the edges to stay together while the glue dried.

Dean still looked pale, but was recovering pretty quickly. Whatever this hit and run thing was, it didn't seem to have much of a lasting effect. "Well do a good job, Sam. Be a shame to mess up this face."

Sam flinched. "Do me a favor and don't talk until I can get _my _face out of _your _face - and you brush your teeth." He set his teeth in his lower lip, trying to get a stubborn piece of adhesive exactly where he wanted it. "But since we're talking about your face – it seems to be getting you in a lot of trouble lately. Maybe it needs to be taken down a few notches," Sam said grimly.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I figured you weren't done chewing my ass yet. And exactly why were you doing that, again?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "I'm done." He got up and started cleaning up the mess on the table.

"No, Sam, spill it. You've got a bug up your ass about something and I want to know what it is right now. Is it about Gena or this Laura chick or what?"

Dean was working himself up for a fight now and Sam could see it in his eyes and in the tension across his shoulders that he was actually kind of hoping it turned physical, just itching to hit somebody. It had been building up all day. Any other time, Sam would have understood that and made an effort to defuse it, or just avoid it until Dean ran out of steam, but Sam had a little fight of his own stored up and that shit? – it was beating on the door, wanting out right about _now_.

"All right, Dean. If you gotta know – I am getting fucking tired of this crap you get yourself into. You don't give a shit about any of these women – you're just using them. I've been watching it for months now and I'm sick of it!" Sam waited for Dean to throw a punch, throw him up against the wall, something. Or Dean could try, anyway. Sam was actually kind of hoping he would. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, ready for anything.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to the throwdown. Dean's face lost the anger and irritation and a puzzled, slightly hurt look took its place. He relaxed his arms and his shoulders slumped. In a heartbeat all the fury rushed out of Sam, leaving him feeling limp and exhausted.

"That's what you really think? That I 'don't give a shit' about any of them?"

Sam wondered how Dean did that. He could talk all he wanted about Sam's "puppy dog eyes," but Dean could give him one look and make him feel like shit, sorry he'd even brought it up. Dean saw it too and sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Sam, look. I give them everything I _have_ to give," Dean said, not being dirty or cocky now, just completely serious. "I don't make promises I can't keep – I'm as up front as I _can_ be. Sure, I lie about who we are and what we do, but I never lie about what I'm there for or whether I'll be around tomorrow. I don't ever let them think there's any future in it - or God forbid – say I love them."

And just like that, Sam eyes started to burn. NoNoNo, not now_, not Jess. _Damn it, he wanted to be pissed as hell at Dean, feeling anything besides the loss. It didn't hit him as often as it used to - that awful, tearing pain in his gut - but it was almost worse for that. He'd be thinking he was going be okay again and then out of nowhere it would just blindside him, so intense he wanted to physically double over, just curl up around himself for protection from it. And he was never ready for it, couldn't be.

And Dean saw that for what it was, too, might have even winced a little, or maybe that was just a headache starting up. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just got up, went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. When Sam heard the shower running, he started to shake and sat down hard on the end of the bed. He put his face in his hands.

--

Dean woke up instantly when he had to and slowly when he could. He'd shut the flimsy inside curtains last night, but left the heavy blackout drapes open so the sunlight would wake him up naturally. Couldn't stand a damned alarm clock and only used them when he absolutely had to. Even then, he'd been known to chuck them across the room when they went off, though that was mainly when he was hung over and never when Dad was around. He actually felt a little hung over this morning, but knew he hadn't drunk near enough for that. Shit – he'd thrown up most of what he _did_ drink. He guessed it made sense – he had gotten hit in the head pretty hard last night and his ribs were sore from all the puking he'd done yesterday – and what the hell was that about anyway?

Dean looked over at Sam, who was finally snoring softly. He didn't know how long it had taken him to go to sleep, but it never happened quickly when he had one of his Jessica-induced meltdowns. He would stare at the ceiling for hours and Dean had a pretty good idea what he was seeing. Sam was a broody little fucker anyway, always had been, and losing somebody like that – _seeing_ something like that - you couldn't just pack it away and forget about it. He got that. He also got that Sam's anger from last night was a lot more about what happened to Jess than it was about Dean.

But he sure wished to God he knew what this – case? – or whatever you wanted to call it - was all about. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why Gena would be upset with him and there hadn't been anybody else, Linda - or Laura or whatever the hell her name was – no matter what Myra might have said. He might be a jerk sometimes, but he wasn't sloppy when it came to the job. He paid attention and he remembered people.

Dean got up and dressed quietly, wanting to let Sam get a little more sleep before they got started. He could already tell he wasn't going to be a ray of sunshine today by the way his head was pounding, and one of them tired and irritable was enough. He shut the door quietly behind him and thumbed his phone.

"Gena – hey, it's Dean…Yeah, I _was _leaving town, but I had some car trouble… No nothing major, but now I have to stay an extra day or two and I was thinking…." A slow smile curved his lips. "Yeah, that sounds good, but I'll need to get back to you on the details." Oh yeah, they were good – Gena and him were _great_.

--

When he came back to the room, Sam was already up and at the laptop. He didn't exactly look rested or happy, but Dean thought the worst of the storm from last night had blown over. Maybe after so many kicks in the gut Sam's recovery time was getting a little shorter.

"Hey, you finally got your lazy ass out of bed." He set down a huge box of doughnuts and a carrier with two gigantic, steaming cups. "Food of the Gods, Sammy – hot coffee and doughnuts from Krispy Kreme. One of the few good things about this place. Even you can't turn up your nose at these."

"You're right – I won't. Thanks," Sam grabbed a doughnut and bit off a huge chunk. "God, these are so good," moaning and closing his eyes.

"Dude. If you're gonna keep that up, you'll have to get your own room," Dean snarked, but Sam felt like eating something and he called that a good sign. "Find out anything?"

"Yeah, and by the way - I really wish you wouldn't go out alone. You're the one this witch is after."

"I can take care of myself, Sam."

"Right, Pukey McYakkerson. We still don't know what this thing can do."

"Oh, right, the Killer Whirlwind? Whatever. I'm pretty sure I've survived worse than this," pointing to the cut on his forehead.

"Dean, my point is that this is escalating. I think it's just going to get worse from here." Sam turned his attention back to the computer screen.

"So how do we kill it?"

"Before it disappeared on its own last night I was going to throw my knife at it, which was mainly because that's all I had on me, but it also turns out to be a good idea. Listen to this: 'one had to fight against them with strokes of the sword'."

"Okay. That sounds really …gay."

Sam ignored him. "And another source says 'iron objects are the best, especially a knife thrown into it.'"

"Knife-throwing I can handle. Iron though – that's not exactly the same as steel, is it?"

Dean thought Sam looked a little impressed. "Well, that depends on the steel. Low carbon steel is almost straight iron, but none of our knives are made from that. Probably anything with some iron in it will work – intent is half the battle, especially when you're talking about witchcraft. But anyway, before we start throwing knives around, I think we need to figure out who is doing this and why."

"And why is that?" Dean asked coolly.

"Because this is a human being we're talking about and sticking a knife into her will kill her."

"Sam, I swear to God I don't know who this girl is or what she wants. I'm pretty sure it's not Gena though. I just talked to her and she seems…pretty happy with me. In fact, she couldn't wait for us to get together again when she heard I was still in town." Dean braced for the bitchfest.

But Sammy could still surprise him, apparently. "That's a good idea. You should make plans with her as soon as you can."

"Come again?"

"Yeah, Dean. Bring her here if you want. That way I'll have plenty of time to check her place for signs of witchcraft. You do know where she lives, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean grunted, wondering when he'd wandered into the Twilight Zone. Maybe Sam was just getting his geek on? Dean had to admit he really was off his own game a little, what with all the puking and weirdness – whirlwinds, for God's sake – and if Dean was off, Sam would work harder to pick up the slack.

Dean realized he was still staring when Sam asked, "Dude. What?"

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it just last night you were busting my ass for being such a womanizing man-whore? And now you want me to, uh… distract… this girl while you break into her house and go through her stuff?"

One corner of Sam's mouth lifted. "Look. I trust your instincts, but we need to know for sure Gena isn't the one. Besides, she's our only lead right now."

He sighed, then looked down at his lap, and then everywhere but at Dean. His thigh started to jiggle up and down. "And about last night. I know you're not mistreating anybody, okay?" He stopped again, searching for an apology, Dean figured.

Enough already. "I think you just want to go through Gena's underwear drawer." Dean took a swig of coffee, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.

Sam's face registered it - _apology made and blown off_. _Time to move on._ "Whatever. Just keep her busy for at least a couple of hours. And don't forget to lock this door – I don't have any interest in being struck blind if I should happen to come back a little too early."

"Oh, I'll keep her busy all right," Dean drawled with a grin.

Sam smirked, while he shut down and closed the laptop. "Great. What's your plan for the other hour and 55 minutes?"

--

Gena just lived a few blocks from the motel. When she suggested they walk, Dean said okay, figuring it would give Sam a little more time. Not that he hadn't managed to fill up the allotted time or anything - fuck you very much, Sam. It was a nice night for a walk anyway. The wind had gone down with the sun and the stars were bright. He was feeling a lot better about things in general than he had all day. Then it struck Dean a little funny that he was more or less taking a woman on a romantic walk in the moonlight so soon after his noble little speech to Sam. _Hypocrite much, Winchester?_

"You're quiet. Penny for your thoughts?" Gena said softly.

"Huh. They're not worth a penny, trust me." _And what are you doing holding her hand, you asshole? This ain't high school._ _Get a grip._

She shivered a little. The temperature had dropped about thirty degrees since afternoon. Dean put his arm around her and pulled her close. Just being a gentleman. Besides, there were things out there in the dark. She might need protection. _Yeah, you just keep selling that angle, Dean._

They reached her door. There was a small light burning next to it. Dean didn't have to see inside – he knew instinctively Sam was already gone and he relaxed a little. As they stepped up on the small porch, Gena turned toward him, her back to the door.

"Come inside. Have a drink."

_Bad idea._ "Okay," he said.

They sat at the table in her small kitchen, slow-sipping Jack without saying much. He stared into his glass, just enjoying the feeling, as relaxed as he had been in quite a while.

"So," she said, "I guess you'll be heading out again soon? I mean, you got your car back and all."

"Uh, yeah." Smooth, Dean. "Listen, Gena I'm not…"

"Dean, don't." She was looking him square in the eye and it made him even more uncomfortable, but he made himself hold her gaze. She smiled slightly. "It's really okay. I knew you wouldn't be staying around. Tonight was just a bonus, you know?"

As many times as he'd been at this point, he never really knew what to say. "It was good for me too" didn't really cut it. While he was searching his brain for something that didn't sound too canned – _be honest – something that doesn't make you feel like such a shit _– he missed what she said next.

"What?"

"I said, 'Laura's gonna be pretty disappointed."

"Laura?" The hairs on the back of his neck were suddenly standing at attention.

She chuckled. "Yeah – you remember – your stalker?"

Actually, no, he didn't remember at all - and that scared the shit out of him. "Oh. Right," trying to cover up how shaken he was.

Apparently he wasn't too successful because Gena got a mortified look on her face and said, "Uh, sorry…I was just kidding. Don't be mad."

"Oh. I'm okay. I'm not mad. So… that Laura – wow, yeah." He gave a weak chuckle. _C'mon Dean, pull your head out right now. _"Um…what do you know about her, anyway?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say we're friends or anything, but I know her, of course. We went to school together. She's always been weird that way."

"Oh yeah? What way is that?" He leaned forward, covering his mouth with the side of his hand. And his hand was _not_ shaking.

"Oh you know – latches onto some guy she barely knows and decides he's 'the one'," she said the last part dramatically, raising her hands palms forward to shoulder level and making a "wow" face. "There was even one guy she was involved with who disappeared. He probably just got tired of her craziness and left town, but there were rumors that she had something to do with it."

"Really," he said, chuckling a little weakly. "Well, thank God you saved me from that."

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure." She looked at him for a long moment. Then she smiled and got up from the table, picking up their glasses and setting them in the sink. "And I really mean that, but I have to go to work in the morning, so…"

"Right," he said, standing up. They moved together toward the door. Standing under the bare-bulb porch light outside the door, she lifted her face and he kissed her softly. Neither of them even said goodbye, but he turned at the bottom step to look back - just to make sure she was safe inside and all, of course. She gave a little wave and he went.

He started walking back to the motel, racking his brain for some sort of memory of this woman everyone seemed to think he was supposed to know. He got nothing. He wasn't scared of much, but not being able to trust himself, his own recall? That scared the shit out of him.

--

"Did you tell her 'adios' or 'hasta manana'?"

Dean pivoted into a defensive crouch at the voice from the shadow of a building about five yards off his right shoulder, but relaxed almost immediately. "Shit, Sam! What are you doing trying to sneak up on me like that?"

"Trying, my ass! I _so _got it done! You nearly pissed your pants!" Sam was grinning. No way he would have been able to do that any other night, Dean assured himself. He didn't need a better measure than that of how freaked out he really was - he was letting people get the drop on him in the dark. It was Sam and he'd known Dean was coming, but still.

"Whatever. Did you find anything at the house?" He turned and started walking back in the direction of the motel again, Sam falling into step by his side.

"No, it was clean. No altars, herbs, pentagrams, nothing. I even checked her computer - no weirdness, unless you count having a thing for Orlando Bloom. Hard drive was friggin' _full _of pictures."

Dean blinked at that. "I definitely _do _count it – probably a good thing I didn't know about that before I slept with her." He hesitated. _Come on Dean, suck it up and tell him. _Easier to get it out now while they were still in the dark anyway. "Sammy…"

"What?" Sam was all business as soon as he heard the change in Dean's tone. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure. I don't remember."

"Big help, Dean. Still in the dark here."

Dean heaved a sigh and filled in what he could.

--

Sam was thinking out loud. "So now we know at least two people have seen you with this girl. She must have used a spell of some kind to stop you from remembering. But why would she do that? I mean if she wants you because she, you know, _wants you -_ you'd think she'd do just the opposite – some kind of love spell where you _can't _forget about her."

"Well I won't forget her now. People who go around messing with my head wind up on my permanent shit list. God, what is that noise? Don't you hear that, Sam?" Dean stopped walking and turned slowly full circle.

"No." Sam stopped walking and looked around. It was way too dark to see anything and he didn't hear what Dean was talking about.

But he could definitely feel the wind was rising again and that couldn't be good. "Dean – let's go." Dean didn't move. "Dean, come on, I said let's go! It's coming again – we need to get inside, right now!" He grabbed Dean's arm and tried to pull him away, but all at once it was there.

A powerful gust of wind hit him and he was thrown back against a building front. It knocked the breath out of him and he sank down the wall. While he was wheezing and trying to breathe, it crossed his mind in passing that he was lucky he'd missed the plate glass store window about 2 feet to his right. It was too dark to see much, but he could damn sure hear the thing howling.

He struggled to his feet and tried to get closer, shielding his eyes from the blowing debris with his forearm. It was moving away and picking up speed fast. In a few seconds he was running to keep up. He was losing it. He was going to have to risk the knife this time. He stopped to reach it. He had the short knife ready to throw when the dust devil turned at an impossible ninety-degree angle and headed down an alley. Sam skidded around the corner and heard a scream. The next thing he knew he had a face full of alley dirt.

When he looked up, he caught a flash of iridescent eyes and heard a growl. Fucking cat. The dust devil was long gone.

"Dean!" Sam got up, pulled out his flashlight and started looking around, not really expecting to find Dean. The bitch was serious this time.

--

He pounded on the front door until the porch light went on. She opened the door, but left the chain on. No fucking wonder – it was somewhere around one in the morning. Sam was sweating and breathing hard and Gena reached behind her, probably for a phone to call the police.

"Gena, wait! You're Gena, right?"

She didn't speak. Her eyes were wide and scared and he didn't blame her, but he had to figure out some way to get her to talk to him.

"Listen, Gena. My name is Sam – you know my brother, Dean? Look, I'm sorry about this, really I am, and I know what time it is, but I think something's happened to him and I need your help," he said all in a rush, and hoped to God that if he'd ever had the famed puppy dog eyes, they were working for him right now.

She shut the door in his face. He tried to figure out what his next move was, other than hiding from the police, who were no doubt already on their way. Then the door opened again, all the way this time.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for strays," Gena said. "Come in, calm down and tell me what's going on."

He stepped inside the door. "Gena, I don't really have time to explain, but I need to know everything you know about a girl named Laura and what she has to do with Dean."

--

Dean woke up stiff and disoriented. His head was pounding and he felt like he might be sick again, but managed to hold back. Seriously – he was so fucking tired of puking. He didn't know where he was, other than lying on the floor with his hands and feet tied, which naturally just pissed him off right there. Then he remembered. Bitch must have hauled him off to her lair. He almost laughed when he looked around and saw an ordinary woman's bedroom, frilly shit on the beds, windows – fucking everywhere. Some evil lair.

The bindings were just rope, and inexpertly tied at that – he'd be out of this before Psychobitch knew what hit her. And he _did_ want to hit her - _oh, God, he did - _woman or not. But it wouldn't come to that. He knew plenty of ways to incapacitate her without hurting her, especially if she was as small as they said she was.

"Ah. You're awake."

Yep, Dean made her at less than five feet tall. She was pretty ordinary looking as far as he could see. There was nothing that really stood out about her, except for the red hair, but he still couldn't imagine having met her less than a week ago and have no memory of it at all. But there it was. He had nothing. He settled for giving her a stony stare.

"Now, sweetheart, don't be angry," she purred. "We're finally together. Everything's going to be fine now." She approached him slowly, stopping before she got within arm's reach. Evidently she wasn't completely stupid. He decided to get her talking and maybe find out how she'd managed this while he was getting the ropes undone.

"Oh, everything's gonna be fine, is it? Having to drag a guy off and tie him up isn't exactly a sign of true love, sister," Dean said, trying to hold her eyes with his. She really wasn't making much eye contact though. She seemed nervous and scattered. Lacking the capacity for a more formal diagnosis, Dean thought, _oh, yeah – batshit crazy._

"It'll happen, I know it will. See, you're _the one._ I knew it as soon as I saw you in Kelley's that night. I had everything all ready for us, until _Gena_ showed up," she said the name like a curse, practically snarling.

"You're crazy, lady. I've never seen you before in my life," Dean said. _Nothing but the God's honest truth there._

"That's what you think." She giggled. It had a hysterical edge to it. "See I know a little about a lot of things. Controlling the wind is just one of the tricks I've learned. It turns out there's a little drug called scopolamine – it makes you all pliable and – _willing," _she said, smiling suggestively. "And later – you don't remember a thing."

Dean felt a wave of pure, cold rage wash over him. This bitch had _drugged_ him? Oh, she was going down. He forced the anger down until it was just a hard knot in his gut, something he could use, and kept working his way out of the rope.

--

"Have a seat, Sam. I'll help if I can."

He didn't want to sit down, he wanted to go get Dean, but there was no sense going off half-cocked, especially since he really didn't know where to start looking. He pulled himself together as best he could and sat down at the kitchen table across from Gena.

She said, "So Dean's missing? And you think Laura had something to do with it?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Gena, do you know if this Laura is into anything weird? You know, like witchcraft or Satanic stuff maybe?"

She looked flummoxed. "Uh, no, not really. Why do you ask?"

"It's just…well, we've seen signs of that kind of activity around here."

"Are you guys cops? Is it some kind of cult?"

"Something like that. I don't know for sure if there's cult activity, but if there is and they have Dean, we don't have any time to waste. Now what can you tell me about Laura?" Sam said, as evenly as he could manage.

"I don't really know her that well, but if she was into something like that she wouldn't advertise it, not around here. People don't look kindly on it. I'm sure you've noticed – there's a church on every corner in this town."

"Yeah. Gena, do you know how Dean and Laura met?"

"Sure. I was there. I saw them together one night at Kelley's. She was all over him and he didn't look too happy about it, so I went over and…_rescued_ him…you might say." She smiled briefly at the memory. "Laura left in a huff, but she's one of those girls – persistent, you know. In fact, I was teasing him earlier about her being his stalker." She stopped and stared at Sam, horrified. "Oh God – you really think she has him, don't you? I never really thought she was dangerous before, but…"

"Did you notice anything strange about the way Dean was acting that night, Gena?" Sam said. _Come on Sam, concentrate - don't miss something important._

"Well, he was kind of drunk, I guess. Not falling down or anything, just kind of passive and blank-eyed, you know? I didn't think too much about it at the time, but now that I think about it, "passive" is sure not the word I'd use to describe him now." She blushed a little.

Sam cleared his throat and let that pass without comment, but she was right - something was way off about it. Dean could damn well hold his liquor. He had a thought and a chill ran down his spine. "Gena, is there any way Laura could have put something in Dean's drink?"

She frowned. "What? I really didn't notice, but I guess she could have. She was close enough. I mean, wow…I'm used to paying attention to _my_ drinks and watching for stuff like that, but I sure never thought about him having to watch _his._"

"No, I doubt that Dean has either." Sam said. This was taking too long. "Gena, do you know where Laura lives, or some other place she might go?"

"No, but I know her last name. We should at least be able to figure out where she lives."

--

Dean was out of the ropes on his hands. Laura was pacing back and forth, still yammering on about true love, raving really, and it wasn't improving Dean's headache at all. He waited until her back was turned and undid the rope around his feet. The next time she turned her back, he had her in a headlock before she knew he was off the floor.

"I should break your neck right here," Dean said in her ear, low and dangerous, breathing hard. And he _wanted_ to – oh, God, he wanted to. "You messed with my head – you messed with my _car_ – and you're messing around with things you don't understand and can't control."

But she had already started chanting under her breath and Dean felt the air in the room stir. He tightened his arm around her throat, thinking maybe he could cut the spell off before she finished. But it was too late.

--

From where he was hiding in the back yard, Sam saw Dean grab the woman around the neck. It looked like he had the situation in hand. Sam didn't think Dean would actually kill her, even though he had to be beyond pissed considering what she'd done to him. He headed inside just in case.

Sam shook his head. This woman didn't have a clue what she'd stepped in. She wasn't much of a kidnapper, taking Dean straight back to her own house like that. Sam didn't know if she was just stupid or batshit crazy, or both.

Actually, the fact that she was so inept - and possibly insane - made things more complicated for them. They couldn't very well kill her in cold blood, but she was still a threat. You didn't go off and leave a loose cannon like this just waiting to explode. Sooner or later somebody would get hurt.

--

Dean shoved her away from him, hard. He was pretty sure another whirlwind was about to materialize and he didn't want to wind up inside it again, helpless. Laura bounced off the wall and ended up sprawled on the floor, but other than a slight hitch in her breath when she hit, she didn't even pause in her chant. Sam came through the door just in time to see the dark swirling start around her.

"About time you got here," Dean said, having to raise his voice over the rising wind. She's doing it again! You got a knife?"

Sam held up a twelve-inch Bowie. Dean raised an impressed eyebrow, then suddenly grabbed Sam by the back of the neck and pulled him down, both of them barely ducking a large table lamp.

"She's insane, Sam! She _drugged_ me!"

"I know!" They were both yelling at the top of their lungs now. Laura wasn't visible anymore, but the vortex didn't seem to be coming any closer to them at the moment. It glanced off the wall, taking out a big chunk of drywall and spraying wood splinters from a ruptured stud. The wind was howling and more debris was flying around by the minute.

"Dean…" Sam was saying something else, but Dean couldn't hear anything over the noise and pressure in his ears. Sam had his arm up trying to shield his face and Dean grabbed him by it and yanked him into the next room. It was still loud, but they could make themselves heard.

Sam yelled, "I said, why isn't it coming after you?"

"Sam, I don't think she's in control of it anymore! I think it's gotten away from her!"

"We've gotta get her out of it, then!"

"If you got a suggestion, I'm all ears!"

Dean was watching Sam for signs of a light bulb going on when the thing came roaring straight through the wall, with a crunching of wood and crashing of furniture. Dean's mouth fell open – the thing was getting bigger, already easily three times the size it had been. This little house wasn't going to contain it for much longer. A full-on tornado with a whack-job witch on board rampaging across the town didn't bear thinking about.

Dean grabbed the knife out of Sam's hand. He pulled it back and threw it hard with a fluid motion. The big knife flipped end over end into the center of the vortex.

There was a high-pitched scream and then everything went quiet for a second. Dean's ears popped in time to hear a meaty thud.

Dean kneeled next to her and she looked up at him, eyes shining. "You're here. I knew you were the one," she whispered and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. A small smile curved her lips and she was gone.

--

The next morning dawned as beautiful and perfect a spring day as had ever existed. There was no wind as they pulled out of town and onto the open highway in the bright morning sunshine.

"So," Sam said, after a few miles had rolled under the wheels. "What's your deal?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," Dean said gruffly.

"Well, I just thought you'd be happy. We're leaving town like you wanted, the car's okay, you're okay, everything's… okay," Sam finished lamely.

Dean looked at the road and Sam didn't think he was going to get an answer. Wouldn't be the first time. But finally Dean spoke.

"Well Sam, I guess a dead girl with a knife in her chest - that I put there - isn't really my idea of a happy ending."

_That's what I figured. _Sam sighed. "Yeah, I know. I wish we could have done something to save her too, Dean, but I think she was too far gone. She would have hurt somebody eventually."

"I know."

He waited a few beats. "I mean, really, Dean - what else could we have done? Call the guys in white coats? How do you keep somebody locked up who can conjure a tornado at will?"

"I _said_, I know."

Short pause. "And anyway, how would we have gotten her out of it?"

Dean cut his eyes at Sam and said through clenched teeth, "Sam, I swear to God…", but stopped there and just drove.

Sam tried to think of something else to say. The miles rolled by. Then there came a point when he could almost _see _Dean put on the front – his big brother mask.

"So, Sammy. Where to next? Please tell me we're going some place where the women aren't one taco short of a combination plate."

"You're unbelievable, man. I'd have thought this might put you off chasing women for a while," Sam said, but he was hiding a smile.

"Hey, little brother - just because you're a fucking monk doesn't mean I have to be."

"I'm pretty sure that's an oxymoron, Dean. And if you'd keep your dick in your pants once in a while, our lives would be a lot simpler."

"Well technically Sam, this whole situation came about because I _did _keep it in my pants. Wouldn't want to make that mistake twice." Dean said, eyes on the road, but smiling. So was Sam.


End file.
